


Heartbreaker

by Star_Nymph



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Nymph/pseuds/Star_Nymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reverse of Never Love Him Right; in which Tim breaks Jason’s heart to save them from inevitable heartbreak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartbreaker

**Author's Note:**

> So I was rereading ‘Never Love Him Right’ and I was thinking ‘Hey, I did this all wrong. Why should Jason break Tim’s heart? Wouldn’t it be the other way around?’. And so I made this—because angst and also cruel Tim. Also, it’s shit, so there. Also, also, I wrote this before running off to work, so there’s probably a shit load of typos in this.

Tim wasn’t a heartbreaker; the notion was ridiculous. Someone like him, who responses to affection like a starving cat to a bowl of tuna could not reject love even if it were thrust upon him. He reveled in it, his world brighter when he was certain of attention from anyone, whether it be his parents or Bruce or Dick or Stephanie. All Tim ever wanted was to feel loved, even the tiniest of percentages, and never feel as though he owed someone something in return.

“Go away.”

“And—what? Ignore what we did? I’m not fucking stupid, Replacement. I know when I’m being ignored.”

That said, Tim found himself with a trail of bleeding hearts behind him more often than he should. For all the pain he endured, for all the days he’s spent alone, pressed against his wall of detachment and warranted anger, it was very rarely that he found himself the subject of rejected love. 

He’d like to say all his past romances were mutually dissolved, but he can’t ignore that three of those ‘great’ romances had fallen into decay because of him.

Stephanie: he’d like to say that, despite their current relationship, what he had done was deserved. She had broken his heart first and he returned the favor.

Kon: his best friend, he figured at the time it would have been best to not turn it into anything more. He shouldn’t have kissed him, it had been a lapse in judgement—letting his emotions get the better of him. When he yelled at Kon, he said he was doing it for their own good. Kon had said he was just being a coward.

Now he’s at Jason Todd, eight months into being…he wasn’t sure what, and neither of them was content with what they had. Or at least, he had been, but Jason had opened his mouth one night three weeks ago, a trembling ‘I love you’ muttered against his sweated skin as they came down from their high.

Tim had frozen. He had laughed. Then he ran—and he’s been running ever since.

Jason’s hand held Tim’s arm to keep him from escaping, fingers biting into his skin through his costume. The hood is off his head, his mask’s lenses narrowed in careful loathing. It was so different from the contrast of him weeks ago, when Tim could see his eyes, tired and hazed, looking at him through the suffocating darkness. Tim clenched his fist, flexing and tugging to escape, but found no weakness in his grip. He pursed his lips and glared at him.

“I am not ignoring you.” He bit out.

Jason snorted, “Could have fucking fooled me. The ten unanswered calls, thirty texts, and—fuck—six times I came to your place to talk to you when you were clearly home must have just meant you were in the shower each time.”

The glare might have relaxed a fraction there in shame. Ignoring the phones calls and texts had been easy when he stuffed his phone under his pillow, but when Jason came to his building—the first four times knocking on the fire escape and the next two actually coming to the front and asking for him through the intercom—Tim might have screamed out in frustration. 

Stupid asshole couldn’t take a hint if it punched him in his handsome face! 

“You could have answered once, asshat. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Leather squeezed as Tim clenched his fist and finally managed to pull away.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Hood.” Tim rubbed his arm, stepping away from him. He put up a hand, batarang between his fingers, when Jason attempted to follow. “Our relationship wasn’t anything more than one-night stands. What ever you say is of your own concern.”

Tim might as well had slapped him by the startled, hurt expression on his face, Jason’s eyebrows knitted as he stared at him. “Bullshit.” He spat, “It’s your concern because I said it to you—and if you didn’t care, then maybe you shouldn’t have ran with your tail between your damn legs!”

“You said it because it was the thing to say at the moment. We’re both aware you that you always speak before you th—”

“Shut up!” Jason reached out and grabbing Tim by his belts, pulling him off his feet and inches from Jason’s noses, the batarang spiraling to the ground. “You have no fucking right to tell me what I think or what I say or how I feel about it, you pretentious little perk!” Hot breath washed over Tim’s face and the smaller struggled to get down, fingers tighten around his wrists. “I fucking love you, damn it. There was no fucking ‘moment’—I said it because I wanted to let you know that!”

Tim’s hands stopped gripping and slackened, his lenses becoming wider inch by inch. Air was caught in his throat as he hung there, the wind swaying his cape around them, hiding their weakness from the world. 

Jason was a fool. An annoying, rash, violent, and downright arrogant fool. Eight months of fighting, yelling, and having sex had made Tim realize that more then ever. However, if anything else, he also made him realize that Jason was also relentless, protective, supportive, and…kind. So much that he had begun to let the man into his apartment. That sometimes he might stay until morning in his arms, content with the moments of silence that were interrupted by Jason’s snoring in Tim’s ear.

There were times when Tim had to sling an arm around him in the dead of night, tearing the man from whatever soul shattering nightmare he was currently trapped in.

There were times when Jason held him as stared blankly down at the city below—begging for some kind grounding to his fuck-up life and the only answer he received was Tim’s grip on his torso.

There was one moment he might have answered back ‘I love you, too’ but the words stayed in his chest and the idea of saying it again—doing the romance and attention and need and then the final result when Jason probably died in his arms like everyone else—made Tim feel oh-so-damn worn-out that all he could do was follow his instincts.

His instincts told him to run and pretend it didn’t happen. He listened.

His instincts tell him now to do the same. Tim has no idea what he should do, Jason panting and staring at him with pained eyes; so he falls back on what his instincts tell him.

“You’re in over your head.” He finally spoke and it takes all that is within him not to let his voice crack. “Didn’t you say at the start of this that you didn’t want anything more? It isn’t my fault that you decided to let it all get to you.”

“Wha…” Jason’s hands slip and Tim drops to the ground, his face neutral. 

“I told you it wasn’t my concern—I don’t love you. You should have kept your confession to yourself, Hood. You’ve only made the situation unnecessarily complex.”

There’s a huff of air, Jason body turning from rigid to defensive, and his face twists into something ugly. Something that was neither anger or sorrow—it was just terrible. Tim sucked in a breath, trying to look anywhere but the man in front of him.

“I don’t see why you’re acting like this. Did you think I was going to love you of all people?” 

Jason looks up and Tim knows he should stop. Shut up. You’ve done the damage—walk away.

“I mean, it’s not like I don’t have a choice.” Tim shrugs, “It could have been Dick or Stephanie or anyone that I wanted. It would be against my better judgement to fall for you—when was the last time you held down a job or had anything resembling a normal job? With out Bruce, you’d probably one of the thugs we take down every night. Come on, Hood, be rational about this, you’re just not—”

The punch sends Tim crushing to the ground, head smacking against concrete and sending his vision twenty different ways, the air knocking from his lungs. Tim gasps as he gets up, feels the blood from his nose and behind his upper lip begin to surface and cascade down.

Tim looks up, maybe with a little smile in an attempt to play the part, but he stops when he glimpses at Jason’s face and sees wet trails falling from his cheeks. Jason might have said something, but his voice chokes behind his gritted teeth and he turns soon enough, hand over his mouth. He leaves before Tim can get up, running faster than Tim could ever.

Inside, Tim’s heart squeezes and something in him shouts at him to follow the man—hold him, kiss him, tell him he’s a liar, and that he does love him. Tim stares straight instead, eyes blank, and rubs the blood on his black gloves.

He’s not a heartbreaker—heartbreakers do what they want with some kind of thrill, the hurt making them feel worthy. 

Tim had no bravery within him to do that—he was a coward, in both rejection and in love.


	2. Let It Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was almost ready to let it go, but he was back down again. Tim always kept him down.

Jason was a sick minded man—sicker than all of the underground’s shit spewing bastards. 

The slender body smacked against the brick wall, his head colliding hard and Jason could see the twitch of his wince underneath the cowl. His blunt nails racked down the boy’s sides and he pushed his knee into the boys groin as he sealed his teeth over the skin and the high red fabric on his neck. The teen moaned, voicing to Gotham’s subjects his dirty little secret—hidden away under his collared shirts and his soft sweaters. Jason marked him—bruises shaped like his fingers left on his hip bones in black and purple.

Gloved fingers tore off the cowl, letting Tim’s pretty, flustered face show, his eyes glowing blue in the dark of the reeking alleyway. Jason grinned and knotted his fingers the boys hair as he ripped Red Robin’s zipper down. Tim arched at the burn and when Jason ducked down, his teeth leaving his memory on Tim’s far too pale skin, the boy cried for more.

God, Jason was a sick minded man—but he couldn’t help it. 

He needed this—he need the brush of skin against skin and the heat of another human being alive in his arms. This…this made him feel alive again; real. 

Tim made him feel real.

—

“I told you it wasn’t my concern—I don’t love you. You should have kept your confession to yourself, Hood. You’ve only made the situation unnecessarily complex.”

—

In retrospect, he hadn’t known what he was expecting from Tim. Jason had said that he didn’t want much from what they had (Partnership? Allies? Fuck buddies?) but sex and having each other’s back. Red Hood was getting sloppy in his assaults. Don’t get him wrong, Jason still wanted to slit the neck of every drug peddling pimp that slithered up from Gotham’s under bellie. Nothing as rock solid was his priorities had changed. 

What changed was when he broke the neck of one child molester in front of a little girl, he realized just how far he was beginning to fall. He figured, staring into those terrified eyes (Christ, she’s as old Lian), that maybe it was time to pull himself a little higher up.

So he went to Tim—because Tim had told him to try and do good. He was trying, he needed help.

He was trying a lot of stuff when he swallowed his pride and asked the Replacement for help. Like pushing how far he could take casual sex before it became painful. Sex was never much on Jason’s mind, not really. Talia had opened the door and he had slipped in one time. He heard once that sex helped stale stress sometimes. He thought maybe doing it with someone like him—damaged and neglected—that things would start clearing up for him. It went the exact opposite

He really hadn’t planned on throwing Tim against the wall.

He thought Tim would push him back and Jason would end it—another bad mistake to add to the growing list.

Tim kissed back. Jason pushed forward.

Their long, endless streams of moans reached to the sky. 

They used each other—Jason felt sick.

He couldn’t get enough.

He could have never gotten enough.

—

“I don’t see why you’re acting like this. Did you think I was going to love you of all people?”

—

Jason doesn’t want to say that he succumbed to the stereotypical-tough-guy heartbreak and started drinking, but he had. He drowned himself in the booze without bothering to put the lights on his apartment. He went back to his childhood habit of smoking four packs of cigarettes a day. He bleached every sheet in his house to get rid of Tim’s scent.

God damn it, he hated himself more than he hated every whiny loser singing break-up songs on the radio. He was turning into one, wasn’t he?

Over dramatic, he told himself. This isn’t anything new, Todd. You’ve been told this before but everyone you’ve ever loved. They didn’t need to fucking say it to your face for it to sting.

Mom did it—she never stayed sober enough to tell him otherwise. She died and left him all alone.

Dad fucking disappeared. The last time they had a lengthy conversation was on his nineth birthday when he dropped by, gave Jason a hug that was too strong to be real, threw him a vending machine toy, and told him he was a man. He hadn’t even come home to help him bury Mom; what did that say to you?

Bruce…Bruce might as well had said the same things as Tim. Word for word. Why not? The two were exactly the same, right down to the monotone voice when ripping him to shards.

Talia cared, but she cared as long she cared for everything else. She’d loved him from a distance and nothing more. That, Jason decided, might as well be enough for him. 

Dick might love him and Jason hated him for that. God damn Goldie, loving him for all the wrong, pitiful reasons.

He was use to it—use to this. Jason drunk himself into a stupor for a week straight then, broke a few things, angrily fucked a few faceless people in the same bind as him, and went back to work when he felt the fire burn in him again.

Jason was heart broken, but he wasn’t beaten. That’s the fucking problem with love—it breaks your legs, leaves you crippled, and then pumps blood into you over and over to keep you going. Jason can’t stop loving Tim, but he can learned to deal with him, just like he had learned to deal with all the other lost loves in his life.

—

It takes him a month to fake a smile around the others. It’s a bit cocky and unnatural, but if it’s enough to avoid Roy’s questions and Lian’s worried filled eyes, then he guesses it’s good enough. The Outlaws are an on and off thing, as it were. It starts up when Roy has the leverage to go out on group missions with Kori and Donna and Jason without being afraid that he’ll find his little girl’s corpse when he gets home. Jason swore he’d never let that happen.

Little baby girl was the reason why he came on this trip. She missed him, she had said over the video fed. She has to show Jason her new toys—her action figure can shot actual arrows now, isn’t that cool?

He let Roy ride with Donna in front of his car for the trip, laying in the back with Lian on his chest. She flatten the paper onto him and tried to color and Jason would interrupt her every time by flipping pieces of her hair over her eyes. She’d laugh and attack him with her red crayon and they’d end up wrestling until Roy turned back and told them to sit down before he beat Jay over the head with his box.

Maybe Jason had the will to laugh at Roy then.

He wouldn’t say.

Maybe later that night he got a visit from Kory with her sunlit hair and burning green eyes. She may have touched his shoulder, squeezed her nails into his bare skin, and asked him what was on his mind. Jason might have sighed and lied. Jason might have crumbled and told the truth for once.

He might have even gave in and cried hot tears with his head pressed against the back her neck as he hugged her from behind (because he didn’t want to be hugged, he wanted to hold someone).

She let him do that, her hands weaving through his hair, and whispered what she needed to say. She told him the truth and it hurt so damn bad that Jason almost asked her to shoot him full of holes. She kissed his forehead and they stayed on the roof of the car until morning came and Donna appeared with coffee and waffles from the local dinner, knowing but not asking.

Jason smiled then. He was still in love, but maybe he was getting use to having another crack in his heart again. Maybe, he wouldn’t say.

—

He was use to the crack, but he wasn’t use to it growing bigger and taking over his heart.

“Jason…” Tim looked like he did two months ago, with his pale skin and lean arms in a hoodie that, for some reason, was still too big on him. His eyes were sad, wide even, and—God—did he ever look pathetic staring at him like that. 

How he bypassed his alarms or knew which safehouse he was in, Jason couldn’t guess.

He held the iron door open, the winter chill freezing him to the bone as snow flattered down from the sky. 

“Tim…” His mouth felt dry. His tongue was heavy like lead. His glare didn’t feel nearly as fierce. “…what the fuck do you want.” 

“You…” Tim gripped the door. “I need to talk to you.” 

Slam the door in his face, his mind screamed at him. Close it and walk away. 

He squeezed his eyes tight, hand itching to swing.

Don’t you dare fall back into this with him—you are nearly out.

“Fine.” Jason walked away and left the door open for Tim.

He was almost ready to let it go, but he was back down again. Tim just kept keeping him down.


End file.
